


Like Mother, Like

by Glitter_Lisp



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (also sort of), (sort of), Fluff, Genderfluid Sam, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Lisp/pseuds/Glitter_Lisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam knows exactly what would make their wedding day perfect, if only it weren't impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Mother, Like

They’re sitting in the grass, backs up against the tree Dean just proposed under, and he’s never been this happy in his life. He holds Sam’s hand in his, gently kissing up and down each finger until he stops at the third one, lips lingering over the plain golden band there as he huffs out a laugh. “We’re gonna get married, aren’t we, Sammy?”

He can’t see his sibling, but he can hear the smile in Sam’s voice. “Yeah, Dean, we are.”

Dean closes his eyes and smiles against Sam’s hand as Sam begins to slowly stroke his hair. “Gonna have flowers for you, all over the place. You want a church or an outdoors thing?”

“Mmm,” Sam says, so Dean continues.

“Kevin can play cello for us,” Dean murmurs. “Maybe Charlie’d be willing to pull out that weird Moondorian instrument.”

“It’s a lute,” Sam chides him softly, but they’re laughing. “It’s not actually Moondorian, and you know it.”

“What flavor cake you want, Sammy?”

He opens his eyes just enough to see Sam shaking their head, still laughing. “You’re unbelievable. You’d really give up pie for me?”

“Hell no! My groom’s cake is gonna be a pie. Maybe a bunch of pies. I’m asking what type of cake you want.”

Sam bends down to kiss Dean’s temple. “Dunno. We’ll have to try out a few favors and see.”

Dean hums, leaning over to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder, before a thought occurs to him and he grimaces, eyes closing again. “We’re gonna have to get tuxes, man. Because I’ll be damned if I’m gonna wear some cheap suit at our wedding, but those things are- Sammy?”

He stops when Sam’s hand, still held in his own, tightens almost reflexively into a fist. “Oh,” Sam says. “You… You want to wear tuxes?”

“No?” Dean says. “Well yeah, okay, I want to, but that’s me. I’d like to wear a tux. Why? What do you want to wear?”

“Nothing,” Sam mumbles, looking away.

Dean has to smile. “Gonna go full Monty at our wedding, Sammy? I got no complaints.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “I mean, suits, man. A tux is fine.”

“Mm, nope,” Dean says, leaning up a little to press a kiss to the side of Sam’s neck. “I don’t want fine, I want perfect. What do you wanna wear? I know you’ve thought about it before. Been planning your wedding since you knew what a wedding was, you big…” He cuts himself off before he can say “girl.” “…Dreamer.”

Sam offers him a tiny, grateful smile, but there’s still something sad around their eyes. “It wouldn’t work. I mean, it’s not even possible.”

“Tell me anyways,” Dean says. “It’s your wedding too, baby. Want you to be happy.”

“I just, uh… Do you know what Mom and Dad ever did with everything from their wedding?”

Dean blinks but answers anyways. “Um, I think some of it was in the house. Like, the silverware and China and whatever. But I’m pretty sure that there was a lot in storage, too. Some pictures, and cards and things, and Mom’s dress-”

Sam’s breath hitches. Dean feels himself soften.

“Oh, Sammy.”

“I know it wouldn’t work,” Sam mumbles, looking down so their hair covers their face. “It wouldn’t fit, and it’s been years. Hell, it’s probably fallen apart by now, and… It wouldn’t fit,” they repeat lamely. “Even if I was the right size, I’m not exactly the right shape.”

“I have a question,” Dean says, looking overhead at the branches above them.

Sam sniffs wetly. “Um, okay?”

“Do we know anyone who can heal and fix things with just a touch?”

“…Cas?” Sam ventures after a moment of silence.

“What about someone who custom makes and alters costumes way more complex than a wedding dress on a regular basis?”

“Charlie.”

“That’s right,” Dean says, smiling at the hopeful look on Sam’s face. “And how much you wanna bet the two of them would be more than happy to lend a hand here?”

Sam’s breath is catching again, but they’re sporting the most beautiful smile Dean has ever seen. “You think so?”

“Absolutely, Sam.”

Sam cries that day.

Five months later, when Dean turns to see Sam walking slowly up the aisle in their mother’s old dress, smiling harder than Dean’s ever seen them, he cries, too.


End file.
